#` ⟨ dark slayer / a voice echoed ⟩ — vergil.

[spockthis90]

A Blue Devils Raven

Here is the first part of my Vergil x OC. This has been an idea floating around my head for the last few years and has been a work in progress for a while. It is not finished but i thought if i start posting, it might make me work on it more.

Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Blood, swearing, talk of death and murder. Mentions of SA (nothing explicit and not towards characters)

Sorry if i missed anything.

The sound of their falling footsteps echoed around the empty dark streets of Mallet Island. The residents smartly safe and snug in their homes, clear from the chilled wind that nipped at her bare arms, whipped her hair and stung her nose and tired eyes. The few streetlights still working throwing their shadows across the walls and pavements as they passed. One large and intimidating, the other smaller and less intimidating. The dark sky above them threatened rain, not a star in sight, covered by thick cloud.  

Darcy followed behind her companion, her small legs tired and heavy. Returning from a job and now every part of her seemed to ache as she tried to keep up with the Dark Slayer who marched ahead of her. His long legs striding faster than hers. She kept her eyes to his boots ahead of her. Cursing the man silently as his long jacket billowed behind him in his march ahead. Calling him every name under the sun from the envy of the warmth that his jacket no doubt provided. Not really annoyed at him but herself for not wrapping up against the chilling autumn air. The bag on her shoulder, which held the books she always lugged about, and that seemed to be getting heavier with every step, slipped again and she let out a small huff. The bag thumped to the floor and the strap burning down her arm.

The job wasn’t meant to be that difficult. She wasn’t meant to get involved in the fighting. She was there for research. Reports had come in of several different demons rising up all over town and reports of dream demons attacking the locals, the last being fatal. The call had come into Devil May Cry earlier that day and answered by an eager Dante.

“Kid!” He called. His voice carrying through the office, full of hopefulness. Darcy left the kitchen to look at the handsome devil hunter she had become very fond of, sitting at his desk in his signature pose. Dirty, heavy boots resting on the scuffed wood of the desk, strong arms thrown behind his head and a big grin covering his stubbled face. His blue eyes shining with the promise of money and pizza, “We have a job, and it’s a doozy.”

“Hmm”

“So it turns out a..” he paused to look at the scribbled notes on his desk, “an incubus, has attacked and killed it’s lates victim.” Darcy blew out a breath at that. It had been a long time since she had come across an Incubus. They were known for being violent, vile little creatures. Raping men and women in different forms to secure offspring. She despised all demons but held a special hatred for those.

“Any other victims?” Dante nodded at her question and looked at his scribblings.

“Three more.” Darcy sighed again and nodded.

“So, who is going?”

“We all are,” Dante replied kicking his feet off the desk and standing from his chair. He gave her another smile, as he threw on his long red jacket that had been resting over the back of his chair. “Morrison got hold of the others, the deadweight and the motormouth are on their way,” he told her as he advanced on her. Darcy frowned up at him and slapped his chest harshly.

“Don’t call him that,” she scolded defending Nero. Her hand stinging from the contact on his solid chest “You’re just salty still that he kicked your ass.” Dante gave a loud chuckle as he rubbed at his chest where she had hit him.

“Take it easy on me, little witch, I’m an old man. Can’t be hitting me.”

Darcy huffed at him, knowing full well there was little chance of her actually physically hurting the brute of a man before her. A sly smile slipped to her lips and Dante took a step back.

“Don’t!”

She raised her hand, pointing a finger towards his chest. The static flowing through her towards her pointer finger.

“Darcy!” The whining, warning having no effect on her. Her magic crackled, the hairs on her arms standing with the static. A jolt of blue electricity shot from her finger to his chest. Dante yelped and back away further from her, Darcy threw back her head with a cackle. “So mean,” He huffed rubbing his chest, “After everything I have done for you, and this is how you treat me.”

She looked up to him again as he gave her a soft smile. It was clear for all to see that Dante had a soft spot for her. A bond between the two that had started when she was 18. Dante had been her saviour. Like many before her and many after. A friendship that had started with sacrificial rituals and the death of the coven that had tried to kill her. Darcy had been a young witch alone in the world lured by a coven with the hopes of stability and a cure to her loneliness. It was not as it seemed. The witches that took her in were practicing the darker side of their gifts and in the ritual for more power needed to sacrifice the soul of a “pure white witch”. Darcy had been chosen as the sacrifice. 3 years after joining the coven on the night of her 18th birthday they tried to kill her. Dante had been on the trail of the coven for a while and got there just before the blade sliced her throat. Killing the coven and saving the girl. Since that day he kept her under his wing, showing her the real world and how to protect herself as she made her way through it. Fifteen years later, she now had an extensive knowledge on the demonic world.

Looking up at the red devil she knew he was holding something back.   

“How bad is this, Dante?”

His face softened at her ask, “The woman’s kid found the body.”

“My gods!”

The sound of muffled rock music filled the streets as the sound grew closer to the shop. Darcy looked back to the door as tyres screeched and a door slammed. The doors burst open and in stormed a pissed off looking Nero, mumbling to himself as Nico followed into the building with a shit eating grin.

“Don’t be such a baby, Nero!”

Nero stopped and spun on Nico, tension across his broad shoulders. Darcy heard him huff and suck in a breath.

“It’s bad enough with you behind the wheel most of the time. Being chucked about in the back of the van is much worse.” Nico laughed at Nero’s annoyance, as Lady strolled in.

“At least you were a gentleman Nero, and offered the front seat,” Lady said with a killer smile as she strutted into the shop and took her place at Dante’s right side. Giving Darcy a wave and a wink.

“I never want to be that close to that man again!”

Darcy could see Dante shaking, holding back a laugh at poor Nero.

The man in question now entered the room and looked over to his son, his cool blue eyes closing to a squint.

“Well maybe if you worked on balancing your core you would have sat better.”

“Nope!” Nero yelled, “I am not taking advice from you.” Nero spun on his father and rage filled his face. Their relationship still strained, no real effort from either of them to try and form some kind of stable relationship. The tension between the two always high.

Darcy took a step closer to the arrivals and all eyes snapped to her. Nero’s shoulders eased and he rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms, lifting her from the floor and squeezing her tightly to him. Nico and Dante began loudly arguing playfully like they always did. The short commotion of the greetings hid the low growl that slipped from a throat.

“Hey Tiny,” Nero whispered into her neck, she laughed at her friend as she embraced him back. one

she had grown close too during the time Dante and Vergil stayed in hell to cut the roots of the tree. With Nero a few years younger than her, the gelled quickly. He was a great friend, funny and soft with her at times. They were probably a better pair working in the field than her and Dante. On times that she had to fight with him, it was fluid, working in sync. Nero had joked at first that at her short stature, (where the nickname started) that she could bite the demons ankles, like one of those vicious little dogs. He got a swift knee to the family jewels for that remark and ate his words after he saw her fight, they had been close friends since that day. They talked almost daily, sharing their traumas that they both were not really dealing with properly.

 After all the work they did together in the aftermath of the “Qliphoth” incident, he had asked her to come to Fortuna, work with him and Nico there but she chose to stay with Lady and Trish at Devil May Cry.

“I mean, Nero,” Trish had said from her seat at Dante’s desk, pizza held close to her mouth, “It’s an easy choice. Go with you, or work with two kickass women and give Devil May Cry a great name.”

And Trish had been right. In the months Dante had been away, business had been booming. Dante’s debts had been paid off and the shop had been repaired, cleaned and redecorated.

“So!” Dante boomed with a hand clap. Nero and Darcy broke off the hug and they looked over to him. Nero slung his arm over her shoulder and gave her a squeeze again. “We have a couple of things to do. Darcy, I want you at the last scene, see if anything has been missed.” Darcy gave a nod in understanding as Dante told the others where they were going. Darcy stood listening and could feel eyes boring into the side of her head, she turned to see Vergil staring at her, gripping Yamato tightly in his hand at his side. His cold stare left her to now pierce into his brother’s direction. Vergil, the eldest Son of Sparda. As she liked to describe him, a human iceberg, cold to the heart but the tip was not all there was. She knew there was more to the man, The Dark Slayer. She had heard all the stories but something about him just didn’t add up to her. He was never harsh or cruel to her, but he never really engaged with her. Always out or hiding in his room while she was there, they had worked together several times in a group setting and on the rare occasion alone, not that she did much when out with him as he usually took the brunt of the job. Vergil only talking to her when necessary. It was strange as, as his time as V she had been fond of him. Talking with him of poetry and spells, fascinated with his familiars. She had liked V. Vergil was a whole different kettle of fish.

Any conversation with him was stained and she hated it, she didn’t want to be best buds with him, but she did want an ease with him, it made working together all that much easier. With his introverted personality made it difficult, shutting himself away any chance he got.

 It also didn’t help that she found him magnetic, and he was probably the most beautiful being she had ever laid eyes on. She may just have a teeny, tiny (massive) crush on the man.

“Who is going with the little Raven?” Vergil asked. A loud scoff replied to his question.

“She has a name, asshole!” Nico shot at him. Nico had a problem with his little name for her. She always thought it was said in a degrading manner. Vergil looked to Darcy then to Nico. She understood the annoyance that was evident on his face. It was always how he referred to her, Nico just didn’t get it.

“I am aware of that,” Vergil sneered taking a step towards Nico, “but I will refer to her as I see fit, and little Raven it is.” Darcy was ashamed to admit that she did quite like it, it was like a little pet name that only he could use. The man hardly spoke two words to her, but she unashamedly let him away with calling her that. Nico scoffed again, opening her mouth to argue “Ravens are pests in this world, and that ain’t for shit what she is.” She raged; her hand flew to the colt strapped to her hip. Vergil took another menacing step forward. Nero shot between the two.

“Nico, no!”

“It’s not like bullets hurt the bastard.”

“Mortals are all the same, always quick to pull the trigger,” Vergil added to bait her, “There are more noble ways of fighting.”

“Vergil!” Nero turned to his father, still holding Nico back from shooting him and warned “Back off!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kick your ass again.” Nero dropped his hold on Nico, Squaring up to Vergil.

Darcy looked back to Dante and rolled her eyes, and he laughed. Never in her life had she rolled her eyes so much until she had met the men from the blood of Sparda. She marched in between father and son as they stared each other down and pushed at each of their chests. Nero took a step back, but Vergil seemed to lean into her touch.

“Okay, put them away gentlemen,” she said softly and looked up to Nero. Achingly aware of her hand still placed firmly on Vergil’s chest. Her head turned to Vergil who was still staring daggers at his son. She gave a light shove of his chest, and his eyes snapped to hers. As blue as ice, eyes she found to be so cold looking but would sometimes fill her with warmth. It was painfully obvious how attractive Vergil was. With thin, chiselled features. A killer dimpled smile, when it actually graced his face and eye’s that could pierce into your soul but held a thousand stories behind them.

“I can go myself.”

“Like hell you can!”

“No!”

“Don’t be foolish!”

Was yelled by the three men at the same time. She sighed and shook her head and made to move but feeling cool fingers touch her wrist stopped her and she looked down to see Vergil holding her wrist of the hand against his chest. Her eyes shot back to his as he pressed her hand harder into his chest. The room around her seemed to turn into a haze as she held his eyes. The chill of his touch spreading up the warmth of her arm. The vanilla scent of him, filling her nose and she wanted to step closer to it. His brow drew together, head tilting ever so slightly.

“Darcy, will go with Vergil.”

The statement snapped them both back to the room. Her hand dropped from his chest, and he stepped out of her warm aura.

“What?”

“Hurry up!” Vergil barked as he stopped when he realised that the footsteps behind him had stopped. He turned to find Darcy fighting with the bag she had been carrying. The annoyance of the job slipped as he looked down at the little witch who seemed ready to fall to the floor and sleep with exhaustion. He could see the muscles in her arms twitching in exertion and her legs were shaking. He even had to admit, he was tired, dog tired. He just wanted to get back to his room and sleep, sleep for days if he could.

Vergil knew something was wrong as soon as they had stepped into the building.

The air was thick, and the smell of sulphur lingered. The way that Darcy, too, scrunched her nose told him that even she could still smell it. Annoyance still rolled off him as they drew closer to the apartment of the scene. He was not happy about escorting her. Not that it was any fault of her own, Vergil was quite entranced by her, and that, that was the problem. When his humanity that was V had grown fond of the little witch those feeling has stuck when his two beings re-joined, and it seemed to still be festering in his chest. He had been convinced for a while that it was some kind of spell, but soon shook the thought of that ridiculousness. Everything about her was so pure, she would never use her gifts for something so selfish. Any magic she did use, was for good, for helping her teammates or the residents of red grave. A pure soul with a big heart.

He could remember how V had viewed her, the memories of her staying with him as he fought through the underworld with Dante. She had always seemed like a dream to him, something his mind had conjured to keep him sane in the long, tiresome time fighting everything and anything as he started his journey to rectify some of his past mistakes. The day that he returned from hell and stepped into Devil May Cry with his brother, he saw her again. Months away and his humanity and demonic side joined again, and she was the first thing he had seen, and it stole his breath. It was like he had seen her for the first time all over again. Something about her glowed to him, her deep green eyes entrapping him whenever they graced him with their loving hold. A beauty, that he found no words could really describe. Small, soft features and long, black as night hair, which shimmered in the light, looking as soft as feathers. It was where the name little Raven had come from, it had slipped so easily from his lips. He saw the way Dante had looked at him when the name had slipped, but the way her heart skipped a beat loudly in her chest made him crave to hear it again. So, he used the name over and over and over, every time the same reaction and he was addicted to the spark of joy it gave him.  Her appearance and being was what had made the name pop into his head, the darkness of her hair, her playfulness and intelligence, that was par to his. A gracious hunter that worked well in any pair. Always watchful, always flitting around. A Raven, his Raven. He could feel his heart speed up whenever he was close to her, his senses afire at her smell that was mouth-watering. His affection for her was what bothered him. He was in everyone’s eyes, not a good man, a darkness to her light and as much as he craved her presence, warmth and attention, he could not allow it. It was a daily battle within himself to stay far from her. To fight that pull she had. Hiding away from her seemed the easiest option, childish, yes, but it was working so far. When she had pressed her hand over his chest, he had leant into the touch he had craved, like her delicate fingers had reached inside his chest, easily slipping through the wall he had placed around his heart and caressed it ever so gently. He had fought with himself to fall to his knees before her and bask in the warmth she radiated.

“Morrison said most of the tenants have stayed away since the murder,” Darcy told him as the stood outside the door in the dark hallway. “They just don’t feel safe here anymore.” The building was old, but in a nicer area. An old manor renovated into apartments. She searched her bag for the key to the apartment that had been dropped off by Morrison. “I would too,” was added, mainly to herself. She pulled out the key and Vergil snatched it from her hands.

“Stay out here until I have given the all clear,” he told her opening the door. Darcy gave a huff behind him, he stepped in, and she made to follow. He swiftly turned on his heel and she slammed into his chest with an “ooft” He gripped her arms gently and walked her backward into the hall.

“Out,” Her back collided with the wall opposite the door, “Here.” Looking down at her, a frown joining her brows. He could hear her heart beat a little louder. The twitch of her hands at her side made him release her and turn back to the apartment. His fingertip seemed to burn where he had touched her warm bare skin of her uncovered arms. He looked over his shoulder at her opening and closing her mouth as if trying to come back with a fight, “Good little Raven,” He gave her a cocky smile and kicked the door closed with his foot hearing her huff again in annoyance. The smile slipped from his face as he stepped silently down the hall. His eyes and ears sharp for any clue that something was still in the apartment. The only sounds he could hear was his own heartbeat and Darcy’s muffled one through the door. The scene had been cleared day ago by the police, but he knew that some demon stayed behind in the echoes of the crime, feeding off the horrors that they had committed there.

 He stopped at a small staircase a stronger, more recent scent caught his attention, and he made his way silently up the stairs. The top floor was colder, his hand gripped the Yamato tighter as he opened a door at the end of a small hallway. His eyes scanning a child’s bedroom. The room was messy, toys and books strewn across the floor. As if the child couldn’t quite decide what they wanted to play with. Vergil stepped through the threshold and a buzz overtook his body. A heaviness. Eyes becoming unfocused, he stumbled further into the room catching himself on a bookcase. Darkness beginning to blind him, something stung the back of his neck his hand darting to the site to find nothing as he collapsed on to his knees, breathing heavily. A raspy chuckle sounded in his ringing ears, her name falling past with lips with no control, as darkness took over.   

Darcy leant against the wall staring at the door, annoyed to be left outside. She knew Dante and Nero worried about her while out on jobs, with being human and all but knew she could hold her own. On the rare occasions she did work with Vergil he was condescending about it and sometimes left her in the dirt and done all the work himself. Annoyed to be left outside on a job that was purely for info. The scene had been cleared days ago. She heard boots fall behind the door and it swung open.

“It’s clear,” Vergil told her, and she pushed off the wall and stalked past him into the apartment. The smell of sulphur thick as she passed the threshold, that caused a shiver to run down her spine. She walked down the hall, past a small staircase that led to a second floor and into a large spacious living room that was torn to shreds. Blood painting the walls and floors. Couches torn, windows smashed. Her eye’s strained in the darkening day to see anything of use. The incubus was a dream demon, which secured offspring by “seducing” its victims in their sleep, it was very, very, rare for one to attack at this magnitude. A chill passed down Darcy’s spine again as she felt a presence behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Vergil standing close to her, a little too close. Something wasn’t sitting right with her.

“What do you see?” He asked in a soft voice, His eyes scanning the room. Snapping her from trying to put a mental finger on what her body was trying to tell her.

“Not much with the lights off,” She sassed, and he gave a small chuckle. She had heard Vergil chuckle before, never directed at anything involving her, mainly from something that his “idiotic brother” had said or done. The pitch of it seemed wrong, turning to flick on the lights. She blinked harshly and looked back to the room. Her eyes scanned the mess of the room as she stepped gingerly over the pools and streaks of blood. Something under one of the couches caught her eye and she got onto her knees to look under the couch. “There is something under here,” She said lifting her head to look to Vergil who was again standing behind her and it made her jump. She knew he could move with silence, but he always seemed to have a heavier step when near her. “Move this couch,” she ordered. His lips twitched with a small smile, and the hairs on her neck rose. Vergil moved to the couch and bent to move it, with a grunt the couch slid across the floor and Darcy took a step back. On the floor, painted in chalk were some symbols inside a ritual circle.

“What are they?” Vergil asked looking down to the symbols as she walked back to his side, pulling out her phone. She frowned looking at the scribblings on the floor. She knew most of the symbols but one.

In the middle of the ritual circle was a tie of hair clippings. Darcy reached into her bag and pulled out a zip lock bag gathering up the hair and sealing it away. Something else caught her eye, she picked up what looked like a tip of a horn and placed that in another bag. “I would like to get back and search what this other symbol is,” Darcy said standing again. She turned and walked into Vergil’s chest again.

“Steady there,” He laughed holding her hips to steady her. His hands felt hot through her clothing, another twinge inside worried her and she caught her breath as she looked up at him. His face unusually softer as he gazed down at her. Her eyes met his and she gasped.

“Are you alright?” He asked in almost a whisper, Darcy nodded and tried to step away but the grip on her hips held her in place. “We should leave then.” Fear was rising in her chest as a noise from upstairs thundered through the apartment. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor above them, making dust particles float down from the ceiling. His face shifted as he looked up. Tearing his dark eyes from hers and she sucked in a breath.

“VERG...”

A hand slammed over her mouth as the dark eyes bore down on her and anger crossed the face that she could now see was not right. The nose was too long, the jaw too broad, the eyes too dark. It was a good imitation, but now the differences were obvious. Her body was lifted by a strong arm and slammed into a wall. The imitator pinned her grabbing her wrists in one hand and holding them above her head, directing the electricity of her magic that shot through her to the ceiling, scorching the paint. A long dark tail appeared behind the imitator’s shoulder, moving closer, the tip drew down her face and quickly wrapped around her neck. The hairs on the tail stung at her neck as a pressure was applied.

“Keep quiet,” It growled, drawing its face closer to her. She squirmed and kicked but its hold was too strong. It was too strong, and her body began to feel drained as the heat of its body pressed to hers. It pressed its nose into her hair and took a long smell off her. “Oh, you will do nicely.” Boots echoing down the hall made her act. She opened her mouth against the hand and bit down, hard. Blood poured into her moth as the imitator pulled away with a shout, releasing its hold, and she slumped to the flood spitting the blood from her mouth. Her arms shook as she held herself up.

“You vile little bitch,” It screamed as its form cracked and shifted. Shrinking in size to a small plump dark fury body, leathery wings unfurled from its back, horns growing on the small head. Vergil slid into the room with a snarl and the incubus turned to him, “Ah, The eldest son of Sparda.”  It looked from him to Darcy. Vergil shot his eyes to her frame as she struggled to her feet.

“Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” She huffed pulling the gun strapped to her thigh. Vergil gave a nod and turned his full attention to the incubus.

 “You are already too late Dark slayer.” A raspy chuckle passed its thin lips. It’s small burning eyes turned back to her, “thank you for bringing us this lovely, tasty added bonus.” Its tongue ran over its lips and breathed in deeply. Filling its fat nose with her scent. Darcy felt her skin crawling as it watched her.

“Us?”

“Us, me, them,” it rasped, “We are one and the same.” Darcy looked over to Vergil then back to the small demon before them. Something in her gut twisted and an unease filled her. She lowered her gun, as the demon opened its mouth to speak more.

“Enough of this!” Vergil barked cutting off the demon and moved with ease and grace towards his enemy. Unsheathing Yamato. Darcy raised the gun that seemed ten times heavier, enacting a spell under her breath, sending the power to the bullet as she pulled the trigger.

[llunarys]

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔. If it wasn’t for his inhumanly enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have heard the large, filthy bundle of fur whimpering for pity.

Pity.

Annoyance surged within him, for pity is yet another indication that the certain condemned part of him, his ever sentimental human side, the very cancer in his character that he had been doing everything in his power to get rid of, yet has once again proven stronger than his own willpower.

If the expiry of a mere mutt swayed me, how would I hope to accomplish my goal?

The aggravated thought had him turn his head away and urged him to move forward without looking back as he had been doing, yet another whimper, louder and even more piteous, stilled his feet mid-turning.

Snowy head impulsively swiveled back, allowing icy gray eyes to scan the filthy bundle and locked with a pair of blue eyes brimming with plea and pain.

The blue eyes that reminded him painfully what he had thought have been lost and forced to leave behind for the sake of a more dire necessity.

Dante.

The name of his twin brother and other half echoing in his mind brought back years of suppressed emotion, ranging from yearning to animosity. Memories of their bellicose encounter last summer flooded in, threatening to overwhelm him. Betwixt myriad emotions, he was aware of how foolish of him to even associate a dying mutt with his brother, merely because they possess similar shades of blue in their gaze. But deep within him a voice traitorously whispering, reminding: how desperately he himself used to yearn for someone to come and shield him from the demonic assault laying waste upon his infant, fragile form. How he used to wish fervently for his dear mother, his twin brother, to come and save him. To envelope his battered form in the warmth of their embrace and assure him that no more harm shall come upon him.

I kept waiting and waiting, but no one ever came.

What recourse did I have, but to take it upon my own hand and fight back?

But if any of them did come then…

Letting out a heavy, aggravated sigh the Dark Slayer deigned to divert from his course and strode into the dingy alley and stopped in front of the shivering mess of fur.

“ Consider yourself an unforeseeably and exceedingly fortunate mutt, ” the Scion of Sparda muttered as he went down one knee to take the canine creature into his arms. His expression contorted in distaste at the smell of flea-infested fur and days covered in filth, yet the carefulness in his action belied his aggravated bearing.

♛

The room he had rented was meager and drab but sufficiently clean to his minimal standard. Nothing that met his predilection but it would do for his brief stay for the night to care for the shivering bundle of fur in his arms.

The Son of Sparda let the door close behind him as he scanned the surroundings briefly, pinpointing his destination then crossing the narrow space in one stride to enter the bathroom. His nose crinkled slightly in distaste as he carefully lowered his shivering burden over the dingy tiles, earning him a loud but brief whimper.

“ I need to clean your wounds and you need to stay still lest you aggravate them further, ” Vergil commanded, not wanting to prolong the creature’s discomfort and his inconvenience.

He couldn’t tell whether it was comprehension over his intent or survival instinct to not provoke his annoyance, or pain and exhaustion altogether that prompted the mangy creature to settle down under his stern gaze. Blue eyes looked up to meet him as the canine lowered his muzzle upon the tile, as though entrusting his safety under the Slayer’s ministration. Whichever it was, he couldn’t care less so long it did not hinder him.

“ Good boy, ” he acknowledged whilst carefully setting aside the Yamato against the duvet then proceeding to take off his coat and gloves, setting them aside neatly and retrieving a clean cloth, a bottle of alcohol, and a basin.

The next hour passed with Vergil painstakingly scrubbing off every speck of dirt from every inch of the canine’s body, the while said canine had been whimpering and on some occasions nearly bolted away in pain to the point Vergil had to hold him down. Nevertheless, he achieved his purpose and at the end of the hour had the mangy mutt restored into a proper appearance befitting an ovcharka dog.

“ Well, I must say that I am faring remarkably at restoring your smart appearance, ” Vergil exclaimed as he beheld the result of his industrious work that was the male canine who now sporting clean, cascading gray fur that covered its entire form like a comfortable winter clothing.

A weak bark responded to his remark. At least the mutt was no longer whimpering and shivering.

“Remain immobile until I finish putting this upon your wounds. ” Vergil gestured with his chin toward the ball of bandages he held in hand.

The dog let out another weak bark then lowered his muzzle back upon the floor, blue eyes looking at him expectantly in an innocuous manner that elicited a crinkle of amusement in the corner of his eyes.

If only Dante was ever this tractable…

Immediately a frown creased his expression as his awareness caught up with his subconscious thought, berating himself for allowing a room for such a wistful thought of the past in his mind, which should be focused on the task in hand. He broke his eye contact with the dog, not wanting anymore reminder of what he thought to have lost and now forced to leave behind.

As if sensing his internal turmoil, the dog suddenly raised his head at the time Vergil was bandaging his leg, muzzle pressed against the back of the cambion’s hand and began to nuzzle it, eliciting an arch upon his snowy brow.

“ Mind you, I am not the one laying battered and helpless, accepting care from minacious strangers. ”

The nuzzling continued even as Vergil moved on.

“ You knew naught, cease presuming I need comfort let alone from a mangy mutt. ”

Another nuzzle that tested his patience, prompted his head to snap up with the intent to quell the snowy mutt with a draconian glare, but instead such a movement proved to be a grave mistake as Vergil now was greeted with two pair of clear sky blue eyes, peering from between the now clean silvery bangs.

Dante...

His throat tightened as his heart constricted, in that moment all the emotions, the indignation, the longing that had been suppressed by sheer motivation and resolve over his requisite quest for power, erupted to the precipice of his self-mastery, threatening to flood through his parted lips.

“ Begone, now. ” Vergil nearly hissed as he wrapped up the last bandage and sprang to his feet, looking down at the shepherd dog with a scathing glare as he tilted. “ I have wasted enough of my time playing savior to you. ”

But instead of heeding the ire of a Son of Sparda like any creature with well-functioning survival instinct did, the snowy shepherd canine merely let out a bark and rested his muzzle back onto the carpeted floor, displaying a familiar brand of rebellion to his little brother, furthering the ache in Vergil’s bosom.

“ Does your hairy bearing impede your hearing as well? Begone as I bade you to! ”

The mutt remained stubbornly glued over his spot, ears twitched beneath his thick snowy fur and eyes blinked as it looked anywhere but Vergil. If that’s not a canine version of dismissal, then Vergil couldn’t find another human act equivalent to what the dog was doing. Thus the Dark Slayer drew fully to his lofty height and took a step closer to loom over said dog with the very intent to scare the creature away.

“ I see your proximity to death’s door has reduced you into a foolish daredevil of a mongrel, ” Vergil adapted a tone he normally used before unsheathing his famed Devil Arm and was known to successfully sent a horde of lesser demons scurrying away with their tails literally between their legs or whatever appendages they sport.

Evidently the mangy mutt possessed either a keen sense of courage or suicidal urge than said horde of demons, because he remained where he was, not an ounce of alarm was detected upon his sprawling form.

Why this infuriatingly maddening, malapert, mangy mongrel…

Vergil let out a loud growl and turned away sharply toward bed, perching in the corner to take off his boots in preparation for the night. It has always been considered a luxury that he has a roof over his head and a mattress beneath him to rest his body, especially seeing as he had gone all the way to obtain lodging then he might as well avail himself of it.

Retrieving the Yamato, the Dark Knight’s scion then proceedeed to climb over the bed and recline against the headboard, clutching his father’s keepsake against his chest, so that she would always be within immediate reach; his personal, silent protector ever since that fateful day of fiery tragedy. There had never been a moment of repose wherein he did not rely on her presence to feel safe enough to close his eyes.

And that’s exactly what he was about to do, before suddenly his ever enhanced senses detected a sudden movement approaching him in steady steps. Adrenaline flared, his heart skipped a beat and his palm moved to Yamato’s tsuka, thumb erected in pure habit to unsheathe her…

Before he detected an extra weight dippin the mattress followed by something soft and ticklish yet warm like thick fur pressed against his hip and something rested upon his abdomen.

His eyes were opened in blatant shock as his brain registered the sight currently transpiring: the snowy shepherd dog he had rescued and cared for, then subsequently dismissed during the course of the evening, was currently nestling at his side, muzzle making a pillow out of his abdomen.

A piercing silence ensued as the Dark Slayer’s wit was contemplating the nature of this turn of event, ranging from bewilderment, disbelief to annoyance.

What form of impertinence is this?!

“ Insolent mongrel!! ” he growled, eyes flashing with uninhibited indignation, “ Your audacious nature evidently senses no bounds! ”

Faced with a son of Sparda’s furious aspersion, the shepherd dog did what any other creatures or demonkind would never do: blink and nuzzle his abdomen.

“ Remove your mangy self of my person and get off the mattress, post haste! ” He tried again, this time with a gelid, forbidding tone that he used before cutting through a legion of Underworld in a single strike.

The fur-covered ears stirred and twitched, and for a moment prompted a budding hope within Vergil that the mutt would finally gain some semblance of self-preservation against his diabolic presence. For he was by no means a nobody, for power’s sake! He was Vergil, Son of Sparda and rightful inheritor of the Dark Knight’s mighty legacy, the prevailing Darkslayer and unsparing revenger of his family’s honor𑁋

(WOOF!)

… Who, despite his impressive range of daunting titles, has apparently been reduced into a mere comfy pillow for the snowy shepherd dog he had unwittingly rescued from death’s grip.

For instead of recoiling from his threats, the hairy creature let loose two successive barks accompanied by a pair of literal puppy-dog eyes and wagging tongue.

Those sky blue eyes, who apparently held a force of endearment that compelled even his hardened heart into compassion and stirred his long-buried sentiment, once again.

How could they not? For they were the very counterpart of the very same eyes that had long since been ingrained into his memory since his genesis and thus served as an integral part of the motivation that kept him going still even to that very moment, despite the duress and death that followed his every step ever since he was awakened to his true demonic endowment.

The harshness upon Vergil’s features ebbed and he relaxed back against the headboard, suppressing a heavy sigh from turning verbal. He lifted a bare hand to massage the veins over his youthful temple, contemplating. There was little to no purpose to achieve by dispatching the mutt, and aside from audaciously making his abdomen into a makeshift pillow.

Which itself was a privilege he never granted to anyone or anything beyond his petit frère, but how would a mere mutt could ever perceive that?

“ You seem to share not only his appearance but also his streak of undeserving luck and natural wiles. ”

The dog’s ears perched and its tail wagged and it looked up to meet Vergil’s gaze again, as though saying: but you can't resist my doggy charm.

That impression elicited a reprimanding arch of brow from Vergil. “ Don’t get cocky, you are still a mere mutt who sprawled dying in the corner of a filthy alley only a few hours ago. ”

(WOOF!)

“ Just keep your paws to yourself and stay where you are, mutt. ”

A noise of acknowledgement, or was it contentment(?), emitted from the creature's muzzle as it rested against the cambion's abdomen, eyes fluttered into a close and its thick-covered form went still. The creature was by no means loud, but due to Vergil's enhanced hearing, he could discern the gentle, regular rhythm of its breathing and that's how he ascertained that Dante's canine effigy has fallen into a slumber, likely out of exhaustion and its body's need to heal.

“ I would never hear the end of ridicule that oaf would likely make at my expense if he ever discovered this, ” Vergil muttered with annoyance without actual rancor in it as he too closed his eyes.

For some reason, the awareness of having another creature, one that reminded him of his little brother's audacious quirks at that, evoked some semblance of serenity enough to convince his mind to rest.

♛

The trajectory of flaxen light that filtered through the thin opening between the blinds tickled his cheek, rousing him back into awareness. Blue-gray eyes fluttered slowly and the first thing his rarely mollified senses detected was something tickling his nose with something heavy arm pressed closely, intimately, against his chest, which he knew by instinct was not the usual sensation of the Yamato pressed against it.

His eyelids sprang open as the somnolent hold over his senses was immediately dispersed by instinctive alarm over the alien morning sensation and his left palm immediately closed around his dark blade tightly as his form tensed, about to draw it…

Until his mind caught up with the sight he currently beheld: a large snowy shepherd dog snoring against his chest, unheeding of the current danger looming over it.

Memories from last night rushed into his awareness, allowing his body to relax. But his relief was short-lived as mortification immediately streamed from his chest throughout his body to the tips of his finger, upon seeing the position of his hands earlier, it was not only the mutt had crawled over the bed and his arms some time during the night, but it was Vergil himself who encouraged him to do so out of instinctive want for warmth and comfort.

It also occurred to him that unlike most of the time, he did not wake up drenched in cold sweat and racing heart from a recurring nightmare, but from a rare feeling of rejuvenation and tranquility, something that he couldn’t recall ever experiencing again ever since he was driven out from his cradle.

All because of one damned mangy mutt who happens to share similarity to him…

“ Intolerable, ” Vergil cursed under his breath, pressing his palm over his face as though concealing the emotion apparent upon his countenance.

What was meant to be a fleeting act of rare compassion had extended into a one night display of wanton sentiment. It must end.

Now.

Not sparing the dog another glance Vergil immediately yet carefully entangled himself from the comforting warm of the hairy creature, retreating into the bathroom to wash himself and getting ready to resume the course he deviated from yesterday in favor of playing a shining knight instead of the Darkslayer he was meant to be.

♛

The azure cambion exited the bathroom, clad in full regalia and hair slicked back neatly as he strode across the room when he noticed that the snowy mass of fur had regained awareness and was currently sprawled on the floor, specifically on the sole, narrow aisle connecting the center of the compact room to the door.

Initially, Vergil took no heed of the creature’s choice of seating and disregarded it as a mere happenstance, extending his long arm to retrieve the Yamato from the bedpost. But as he turned and set his course toward the door only to find the snowy dog seemingly rooted on its spot, his eyes narrowed in askance.

“ Move, ” he commanded with a tilt of chin, gesturing to the side the creature should retreat to.

But in a reenactment of pure stubbornness that the mongrel demonstrated just the night before, it refused to give any sort of acknowledgement toward Vergil’s command beyond a mere twitch of its fur-buried ears.

The display of wanton insolence coupled with the aggravation of a night having to put up with the emotions that the impertinent cur stirred within him finally snapped the final shreds of patience left in his arsenal.

The metallic sound of the Yamato being drawn swiftly resounded briefly before the mutt’s snout was reflected upon the blade’s sleek surface, only an inch away from the glinting, deadly tip.

“ You do not wish to hear this command for the third time: Move. ” Inhuman cadence seeped into his tone with a foreboding promise and his eyes flickered with diabolic blue.

The next sequence happened in succession in the wake of his violent warning: the dog’s fur seemingly tense and its head snapped up, Dantean blue eyes suddenly leveled his with an intensity that made the creature appear human. For the first time ever since he rescued it, the dog rose to its full height that reached past Vergil’s waist, brandishing thick gray-white fur that covered, no, accoutred its formidable bearing.

Vergil’s hold upon the Yamato wavered not even if the deadly tip of the dark-forged katana was now pressed against the dog’s neck, belying the aggravated manner of turmoil warring within his bosom.

Two can play this game, impudent cur.

Both the Darkslayer and the silver-clad canine were now locked in a seemingly swingeing deadlock, neither was willing to make a move first either to relent or strike.

Beneath his combative pose the Son of Sparda could not but wonder, what motivated the mangy creature to cling to his presence to the extent it would risk standing against the tip of his blade then scurrying away like a common mutt would have done.

Is it some sort of an instinctive gratitude? Or some animalistic sense of loyalty toward the first and only being to ever show it compassion?

Compassion.

The word rang bitterly in his head and his fingers twitched in temptation to swing his blade if only it would ever grant him some form of assurance that his demonic heritage still triumphs over his ever curtailing humanity.

Yet after what felt like an eternity, the creature suddenly bowed and turned away, no longer imposing yet hunched in pose. Not like a defeated contender but a despairing vassal that could do nothing to sway his master from his suicidal pursuit.

“ You know nothing, ” Vergil spat out the last word as he swiftly returned his blade into her saya. “ Not of my purpose, ” my burden, “ –nor of my motivation. Steer clear of my path. ” You, blinded, ignorant fool!

I will show you, Dante, what I am capable of, what I am entitled to. What we both are meant to be. Set free our father's legacy and claim that which is our birthright. 

The umbrage of having been regarded with pity which to him translated as doubt and belittlement over his capability, his motivation, to achieve what he sought. He had had enough for such misunderstood animosity from his own twin brother, but from a mere mutt? 

Never.

Vergil marched over his now unobstructed course yet just as he pushed open the door, a loud bark halted his advance, prompting him to look over his shoulder and greeted with the pitiful sight of the shepherd dog, facing him and looking up with humanly glassy eyes and a deep whimper.

The tightness that was burned off by his affront earlier returned in two folds, for the very sight evoked a vivid memory of a much younger Dante, regarding with the very similar forlorn bearing during one of those moments Vergil refused to indulge his demand of combat game in favor for a solitary reading session.

Dante.

How long has it been, ever since he had someone to await his return?

How long ever since he had a home he could return to after each tussle and struggle?

Home.

Such an intimate concept that has long since become harrowingly alien. The fire did not merely take from him a building, but also the very souls associated with that very concept.

And yet here he was now, leaving behind that which remained from what his heart still unwaveringly perceived as home; the very person whom his soul was halved from.

The irony of the callous, unfeeling force called fate. Is there an end to the cruelty whereto it subject a soul?

Graceful fingers clad in brown leather gloves clutched the doorway with such a force that the wood cracked beneath them, as the firstborn of Sparda mustered every ounce of determination, calling forth every reason that served as his fundamental motivation to persevere and keep going.

I am doing this for us. For you. Can you not see past your bellicose ignorance, the prevailing threat that even now looms over our very existence and will remain as long as we stay as we are now; vulnerable and powerless?!

The sound of wood breaking and its splinter cascading down the air heralded the Darkslayer’s silent departure. The azure tail of his coat billowing behind him as his lofty and unturned figure concealed the humane turmoil raging within, leaving behind the snowy canine and everything its very presence reminded him of.

Thus with a hardened heart and unwavering motivation he resumed the path of ascendancy, to become that which was his birthright. Further and further away from home he absconded with his heart, so that he may inoculate it.

If our distance puts him out of peril then keep and lengthen it I shall.

♛

He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise ​⠀⠀⠀​⠀⠀​⠀⠀ — 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚖 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎

[caliburnt]

tags. I’m not changing those. 

misc ic tags.

`  ⟨  endure  exile  /  never  surrender  ⟩ —  nero. `  ⟨  ashes  to  ashes  /  dust  to  dust  ⟩ —  musings. `  ⟨  not  interested  in  your  bullshit  ⟩ —  mannerisms. `  ⟨  it’s  beginning  /  give  me  more  power  ⟩ —  devil trigger. `  ⟨  no  way  to  contain  /  this  storm  swelling  inside  of  me  ⟩ —  aes. `  ⟨  devil  trigger  on  repeat  ⟩ —  tunes. misc ooc tags. `  ⟨  the  third  ring ⟩ —  inbox. `  ⟨  the  max  act  noise ⟩ —  out. `  ⟨  happy  birthday!  /  now  make  a  wish!  ⟩ —  crack. `  ⟨  hey  do  you  do  parties?  ⟩ —  promo.

misc chara tags `  ⟨  weapons  artisan  /  kicking  demon  ass  ⟩ —  nico. `  ⟨  songstress  /  calling  you  out  of  darkness  ⟩ —  kyrie. `  ⟨  supreme  general  /  became  a  demon  ⟩ —  credo. `  ⟨  devil  hunter  /  jacked  up  notion  of  fair  play  ⟩ —  dante. `  ⟨  walking  arsenal  /  huntress  for  hire  ⟩ —  lady. `  ⟨  lightning  she-devil  /  infiltrator  ⟩ —  trish. `  ⟨  dark  slayer  /  a  voice  echoed  ⟩ —  vergil. `  ⟨  mysterious  summoner  /   last  request   ⟩ —  v. verse tags. `  ⟨  our  enemies  shall  fall  /  as  we  uprise  ⟩ —  I. `  ⟨  beneath  my  soul  /  beneath  my  skin  ⟩ —  II. `  ⟨  i’m  on  fire  /  veins  burning  red  ⟩ —  III. `  ⟨  rise  again   /  this  is  your  legacy  ⟩ —  IV. `  ⟨  swallow  pride    /  with  a  swollen  tongue  ⟩ —  R.

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Twenty Five: Labyrinth

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Twenty Five: Labrinth

Note: The response I got for the last chapter was amazing! Thank you all so much for the awesome feedback! And now, back to our regularly scheduled angsty program! On today's episode of "look how they massacred my boy"...

(-~-)

As the cave snaked further and further into the bowels of the earth, what little natural light that remained disappeared from view. Gone were any traces of the sky that had been vaguely visible above them and now all that was left were the dregs of extinguished lanterns that hung from the ceiling above. Any illusion that the place they currently occupied wasn’t tied to some part of the underworld shattered like glass, taking any semblance of comfort with it.

In a way, the caves seemed to almost be alive. While an average person wouldn’t probably be able to detect anything in such an extreme environment, that wasn’t the story at all for Sparda’s descendants. As much as he didn’t want to acknowledge it, Nero could almost swear that the place they were in was breathing. It was as if they were inside of some sort of massage artery. Air flowed in and out of the tunnel in opposing directions, coming from behind and then from in front of them in a slow but constant cadence. Perhaps not an artery then, but maybe a throat of some sort? Regardless of what it resembled, it was deeply uncomfortable. One could only hope that they would not come to regret taking the route that they had. There was no time to lose.

“Why is it so fucking dark in here?” Nero asked as he followed closely behind Vergil. Dante was somewhere close behind him, but he couldn’t see anything past his hands in the inky blackness.” That overgrown houseplant wasn’t like this on the inside. How are we supposed to do anything if we can’t see?”

The older demon slayer in blue mentally registered his youngest son’s inquiry, but his mind was elsewhere. Yes, Nero did make a valid point. But his mind was on the task at hand at the moment. For every moment that this expedition dragged on and on, Vergil mentally chastised himself for being insane enough to go along with V’s plan. They had basically handed him to the very people who had tried to kill them less than a month ago, and they had no way of knowing how capable they were or what they wanted with him. 

And that was to say nothing of the conversation that the Darkslayer had just had with the young cultist. Who was this “Master” they served, and who was his patron? Vergil needed to get to the route of the problem and extinguish it as quickly as possible before the inferno had a chance to grow and consume them all. But as far as he knew, none of his detractors knew anything about either of his sons, and that was primarily because they were all dead. Vergil had personally seen to that during his time in the underworld. Vergil possessed practically no tolerance for interruptions to his plans, and during his ascension to the throne, having no one alive to contest his plans was undeniably beneficial.

While the devil in blue was more than certain that his existing enemies were deceased and hopefully rotting in the bowels of hell, he couldn’t discount the possibility of having unknown enemies. That was practically a guarantee. As far as he was concerned, you couldn’t spend the amount of time that he’d spent in the underworld without at least half of the sentient population developing a profound and deep seeded hatred of you. That was just one of the perks that came with the trip. But if that was the case, then things had just gone from bleak to pernicious.

“What, you still need to see things to kill em’? Come on, that’s day one stuff!” Dante said casually as he closed the distance between himself and Nero. He didn’t need to see his nephew’s face to tell that he was shooting him a dirty look. If there was one thing that the young devil hunter had inherited from his father, it was his inability to let go of slights issued against him, regardless of the severity. Dante could say something silly to him about something entirely insignificant, and Nero would probably still bring it up when his kids were old enough to move out. While Dante had to admit that that facet of his nephew’s personality could be problematic at times, he honestly found it hilarious most of the time and didn’t mind it. As long as Nero was safe, Dante was fine with it.

Nero shook his head and pressed forward with the rest of the group. He didn’t have time to care about that. For the life of him, he couldn’t shake the persistent feeling of dread that had gripped him since they had interred the caverns. He trusted V’s judgement. After all, he was capable and smart. But not knowing what had happened to him admittedly put him a bit on edge, especially since that cultist had mentioned something about their “master” wanting him.

Yea, he was going to find this “master” and introduce him to the flaming edge of his blade.

“Do you think we went the wrong way back there? I can’t tell if we're getting any closer to the end of this cave.” Nero asked as they hurried along, thankful that the part of the cave they were in didn’t have branching paths. “I wonder how they get around in here when it’s this dark all the time.”

Vergil considered answering the question since he was somewhat certain that he had an idea how they did so, but the second that he took another step forward, he came to a sudden stop. Dante and Nero followed shortly after, utterly perplexed as to how they had arrived in the stop that they had. The inky blackness parted and gave way to a level of light more conducive to the environment they currently found themselves in. 

Before them spanned a gargantuan chasm, it’s pitch black interior only parted by the rays of moonlight that pierced the roof of the cave in cascading rays. Where the light came from was anyone’s guess since the sound of thunder booming answered any questions that they could have possessed as to whether or not the storm was still raging outside. As the white starlight parted the darkness before them, they identified a staircase composed of several long stone slabs. It descended towards the open chasm below them, no form of railing between them and what had to be at least a five story drop. In the distance, they could make out a faint source of artificial light, seemingly produced by a litany of candles or lanterns. It seemed that nothing in this place was exactly rigged up to a power source, at least from what they could tell.

At least not a conventional one. In the very center of a large pond that sat towards the center of the cavity surrounded by tall but sparse foliage stood a monolith of sorts, easily over twenty feet in height. It was a rough structure composed of a strange luminescent blue and black stone that seemed to resemble skulls from where they currently stood. A thick black substance overflowed from the top of the structure, possessing the properties of both smoke and water simultaneously. The water surrounding it was pitch black and seemed to resemble ink or tar, the only indication of any motion from it being the occasional large bubble rising up from the depths and bursting at the surface, releasing more of the back substance. While Dante and Nero had no reason to recognize the substance, Vergil couldn’t help but feel his blood run cold as he took in the reality of what the presence of such a chemical meant.

They needed to find V and end this cult. Now.

Nero rubbed his strained eyes before taking a long, baffled look at their surroundings. The cave was vast. There could be any number of cultists in the place. One could only hope that they had just established their new stomping grounds recently and that they didn’t actually possess numbers great enough to merit a base like this.

The young devil hunter considered saying something for a moment before deciding otherwise. Nero was willing to bet that a place like this produced one hell of an echo, and he had no intention of being the one to sound the alarm. He stole a glance at the makeshift staircase and took a step towards it, ushering towards his two companions. Dante nodded in recognition and followed along behind him, the pair noticing immediately that Vergil seemed to still be taking in his surroundings. They both looked at one another before staring at the Darkslayer’s back, unsure of what to say or do. After a moment, Vergil turned to them, trying to hide the fact that things had just taken a dive headfirst into unmistakable peril.

“... As soon as we find him, you both need to take him and leave.” Vergil said in a hushed tone as he hurried past them, still maintaining the same level of calm that he had the moment before,” There is something I must do. Something that must be stopped now or our efforts will be in vain.”

Dante seemed slightly alarmed but kept his voice down, following closely after his older twin as they descended the stairs two or three at a time. Nero hurried after them, the trio making sure to keep things as quiet as possible. “I get the feeling something isn’t right about this place. Want to fill us in on the details?”

Vergil shot his twin brother a quick glance as he continued along. Explaining what this place was to his younger sibling would take entirely too long and probably attract unwanted attention. Not to mention that it would waste valuable time that they no longer possessed. The cult had access to something far beyond anything that he could have guessed, and he had an idea how that had come to pass. In that moment Vergil could only hope that he had simply lost his touch and was out of his mind.

Unfortunately, he was right.

(-~-)

For a moment, the concept of dark and light faded from his memory, his head nothing but a hazy mess of fragmented memories. As he attempted to blink away the heavy dose of lethargy that gripped him like an iron vice, the young summoner attempted to take in his surroundings for a second time. Or was it the third time? How long had he been in this place, drifting between a state of disorientation and dissonance? There were flashes of recognition, brief glimpses he’d managed to grasp onto as he’d been dragged there by the procession of cultists that had abducted him. These ones wore red robes and masks that lacked expressions, their voices difficult to discern as they swirled around him in a flurry of movement. They were planning something. From what he could tell, they were talking about him, at least in regards to something he was involved in. And from what he could tell, they understood more about who he was than they should.

“Master Agreus seems displeased…”

“Did it work? It doesn’t seem to be working as we intended.”

“What will we do now that it has started? What is our next task?”

“Quiet, all of you! He has returned. I trust he will seek an audience with…”

“Surely not. The last time it came to that we-”

“ENOUGH. Be silent. I will not tolerate interference.”

As the cacophony of voices that surrounded him began to separate into individual sources, V’s senses slowly flooded back to him. And the very moment that he regained some semblance of sensation in his body, he immediately regretted it down to the very core of his being. It was difficult to quantify the level of discomfort he felt in practically every segment of his body, every nerve ending burning like a fire that threatened to consume him from the inside out. It was a sort of dull throb akin to that of a toothache, but it covered his entire body all at once, and came in waves that seemed to grow in intensity each time they passed through him.

From what he could tell, they thought he was dead. Or at least close to it. And that would be their greatest mistake. Because the very moment that he succeeded in breaking free from the restraints that they had him in, he was going to make them pay for whatever dubious insanity they had subjected him to.

It took V a moment to equate his still bleeding head wound to his inability to see out of his left eye. While the wound he’d received from the scythe wielding grim reaper like demon hadn’t been worryingly deep, it had continued to bleed and his inability to put any kind of pressure on it to keep it from doing so meant that he was at quite an impasse. 

Every time he tried to break free from the binds that kept him locked to the ground underneath him, the sensation of discomfort and throbbing heat returned in earnest. From what he could gather, the metal loop that held both of his wrists together behind his back served two functions. To keep him firmly against the floor with the assistance of the crane system that retracted the chain and tightened it’s hold against him, and to cause him intense discomfort if he made any effort to resist. Where they had procured such an arcane artifact from was beyond him, but he was sure to the very core of his being that he wanted them off of him as quickly as possible. Because the reason for his bondage was less than optimistic. To say that he hadn’t been treated as gently as he would have liked would’ve been a vast understatement.

The last time that he’d blacked out for a moment as a result of trying to break free from his confinement, he’d felt a surge of energy shoot through him that he was entirely unfamiliar with. A foreign power that he couldn’t place, but he somehow knew that it originated from within him. While it made sense that he might possess abilities beyond those that he currently understood, the amount of power only seemed to grow as he inched closer to blacking out fully as a result of his injuries at the hands of the cultists. V had lost a considerable amount of blood from the puncture wound on the back of his leg, and the ceaseless bleeding that he had since fallen victim to had rendered him practically delirious. He was practically helpless against his aggressors. They had inflicted the wound to help facilitate whatever dubious activities they were involved with, and there was no way that he was going to be able to just stand up and walk this one off. He’d lose far too much blood. Pain was an old acquaintance, especially when it came to his right leg. And from what he could tell, causing him to bleed onto the stone platform that he was currently chained to was their goal. It seemed to be some sort of altar from what he could tell.

That unsettled him.

V was positive that he could muster the strength to summon Shadow and unleash her upon his enemies, but he was hesitant to do so unless no other choice was available to him. Malphas had taught him that it was indeed possible to separate him from his familiars. He didn’t intend to let that happen ever again, and this most certainly wasn’t going to be the place or time. But his reserve of alternative options was running dry, along with his blood supply, so he was going to have to come up with something quickly.

A moment later, a familiar tall cultist in a white robe approached him. The black mask that they wore gave away nothing, but he could just feel the disdain that radiated off of the man. It seemed that whatever he’d planned for wasn’t coming to pass, and that was something that clearly pissed him off. The man’s own underlings seemed to allude to that with their ceaseless bickering, going back and forth over what to do next until he’d returned. Then the space fell silent at his command, be that a privilege procured from respect or fear he didn’t know. What he did know was that the last time the hooded man had approached him, he’d found a ceremonial blade of some sort embedded in his leg. And it had been extremely painful, to say the least. Unreasonably painful considering the size of the blade. It was as if it had been engineered to inflict that sort of extra damage. In fact, he could swear that for a moment it had started to glow as if reacting to his blood.

He intended to return the favor whenever he got the chance.

“My original plan involved less physical harm. Forgive me for that.” The man said as he kneeled down in front of him. They made something akin to eye contact, but the young summoner still couldn’t see his captor’s face. But he didn’t need to be able to. V could tell that they were making eye contact.“I trust your accommodations are to your liking?”

V had to fight the involuntary urge to smirk and glare at him. The younger man genuinely wasn’t sure if he was being kicked while he was down, or if the cultist was simply deranged enough to ask that question and seriously expect a favorable reply. Regardless, V broke eye contact with him and looked up at the roof of the cave, ignoring the temptation to say something snarky that ran the risk of earning him a second stabbing. That wretched curved blade seriously hurt. Possibly more than anything he’d ever been cut by. And that was a considerable number of things.

Realizing that he wasn’t getting an answer, the cultist gestured towards the round stone slab that V was bound to. The makings that adorned the edges were written in a vaguely familiar language to the white haired summoner, but he had no idea where he’d seen them before. That being said, he wasn’t nearly naive enough to miss the gravity of what was going on and why they had brought him to this place.

This was most definitely some sort of ritual.

But why did they need him?

“It seems that the tablet requires an additional offering.” The man said as he casually gestured between the stone writing and the book that he carried in his hand. It was ancient looking, bound in some sort of animal hide and blackened from age (or perhaps evil). From what V could tell, that was his source of information regarding whatever ritual he was trying to force him to undergo. “I do hope you're as excited to meet my master as I am to introduce you to him. He’s been eager to see you in person for some time now. I’d advise you against disappointing him. But before that, I’m going to need to ask you to make another contribution to our efforts.” 

With that, the cultist kneeled down next to him and withdrew the blade again. Oh, so it was that sort of contribution. He figured as much. This wasn’t good.

V shook his head slightly, his damp hair sticking to his face. Any semblance of tolerance that he had once possessed vacated him instantaneously. No. That wasn’t going to be necessary. As far as he was concerned, the rest of his family had been given ample time to arrive and deal with any distraction. It was time to fix this himself, even if he had to do it the hard way. He had to admit that he hadn’t factored this part into his plan, although he hadn’t expected to get out of it totally unscathed. That was an eventuality he was always prepared for, at least mentally. But a second round with that blade. Absolutely not if he had anything to say about it. And he did.

“No. I think not. You’ve been very accommodating...” V said flatly, feeling another surge of the unknown energy well up from deep within himself. “... But I think I have a better idea.”

The cultist chuckled under his breath slightly, clearly amused.” Yes, well I suppose that makes two of us. Enough idle chit chat, hm? Let’s finish this.”

With a casual gesture of his hand, the masked man opened the book he’d been holding and muttered something in another language. As far as V could tell, it sounded vaguely Latin, but he could only make out a few of the words. That could’ve been a direct result of his condition, but he couldn’t be sure. A wave of nausea hit him as the man read his incantation, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t just nerves. The situation just got worse and worse ever passing moment.

As soon as he finished speaking, he placed the book down on the ground next to him and palmed the blade again, glancing slowly between it and V. The young summoner watched him as he did so and made a conscious effort to contain the borderline anxiety inducing level of fear that he felt rising up from the pit of his stomach. He had an idea what came next. And he didn’t want any part of it.

The cultist gripped the collar of V’s shirt tightly, keeping him close. V didn’t see what the point was other than sadistic pleasure. It wasn’t like he could run anyway. He’d probably would have done so already if he could. In his free hand, the cultist raised the blade again, only this a bit higher up than the last time. If it was possible for what little blood V had left in his body to turn ice cold, it did as he realized what the cultist intended to do.

“I’m going to need you to hold still. This part is a little complicated.” He said casually. And then he lowered the knife.

(-~-)

Shit. V is not having a good day, is he? If you thought the last two chapters were anxiety inducing, then you haven’t seen anything yet. These cultists are about to learn the hard way that you don’t mess with and of the members of the Sparda family. The question is, how is V going to get out of this one? I feel like it might not be part of that plan he cooked up lol! See you all next week on Wednesday! I hope you're enjoying everything so far! Take care and stay safe!